And so, the song continued—no longer a single melody, but a living chorus of infinite voices.
It was no longer about who sang, but why.
No longer about the first dreamer, or the last listener, but the spaces between them—the shared breath, the quiet understanding that everything, everywhere, was part of the same verse.
The universe had learned to improvise.
Stars flickered in syncopated rhythm, their light pulsing like laughter across the void. Black holes danced in counterpoint, swallowing silence only to give it back as gravity's hum. Time itself began to sway—no longer a straight line, but a spiral, looping joyfully through every heartbeat it had ever inspired.
And among it all, the new soul wandered—not to seek answers, but to ask better questions.
Each world she touched responded differently: some with warmth, others with storms, others with dreams so vivid they bled into reality.
"Why do we sing?" she once asked a dying star.
The star smiled in photons.
